Late at Night in the Supermarket.
One evening, long after the sun had set, in the local supermarket, Emily sat at the till, tears welling in her eyes, worn down by exhaustion, injustice, and loneliness. The sleepless night hadnt helped. Her neighbour, Gary, a notorious drunk, was once again making a racket through the wall with his drinking buddies. Even the police had given up trying to calm him down.
Emily wiped her eyes and glanced around. A handsome young man in a smart coat approached her till. For the past month, this tall, dark-haired bloke had been coming to her checkout to pay for his pizza and fruit juice. “Probably a loner,” she thought. “Some girls going to be lucky with a lad like that.”
The customer, pizza in hand, smiled and handed her a fifty-pound note, then hesitated. “Ill get some changedont want to trouble you.” He paid and left.
There was an hour left before closing. The few stragglers tossed their shopping into trolleys with little enthusiasm. Yawning despite herself, Emily cursed Gary under her breathjust as he stumbled in, dishevelled and bruised, clutching two bottles of fancy vodka. With a mocking grin, he slapped down another fifty-pound note, crisp and new. “Another all-nighter,” Emily thought bitterly.
“Gary, did you rob someone?” His bleary eyes flickered between bruises. “Whyd I nick it?”
Out of habit, Emily held the note up to the light, ran her fingers over itthen froze. “Hold on somethings not right.” She fed it into the detector and muttered, “Whered you get this? Its fake!”
Gary went stiff as a board, clutching the bottles to his chest like a lifeline. Then, quick as lightning, he dumped them on the counter. “Check these too,” he blurted, shoving two more fifties at her.
“These as well. Ive got to call the police!”
“Emily, swear down, I found em outside! Someone dropped their wallet, I just took the cashdont dob me in!” he begged.
She relished his fear, ready to admit it was a jokethe notes were real. But Gary, panicking, bolted to the bin and shredded the evidence. He tore the money up with satisfaction and stormed out.
Emily was stunned. What had she done? Still he deserved it.
“Excuse me,” said the familiar customer, reappearing. “I bought a pizza earlier”
“I remember,” Emily said warily. “No change.”
“Its not that I lost my wallet getting into my car. Proper scatterbrain.”
“Was there much money in it?” she asked, thinking of Gary.
“Moneys not the issue. I scribbled an important phone number on a note. If someone finds it, they can keep the cashjust copy the number for me. Heres my card.”
“Alright,” she agreed.
Emilys mood soured. For the rest of her shift, she racked her brains on how to help the pizza enthusiast. Finally, she grabbed a bin bag and emptied the rubbish onto the floor.
Back home, gloved up, she sifted through the torn notes, cursing her stupid joke.
“And him, such a klutz Probably some girls number,” she thought bitterly, eyes stinging. She found the digits on two scraps.
But how to return it? She couldnt call from her phonehe might ring back. What then? Admit the fake money stunt?
She pulled out the business card: Oliver Harper, work and mobile numbers. Shed have to call from another phonemaybe ask old Mrs. Wilkins next door? But what if Oliver called back and the old dear got confused? Hed think Emily stole the cash!
Then it hit herthe caretakers phone. He wouldnt remember her. But if he did best make sure he couldnt. She headed for the wardrobe
Minutes later, a bundled-up figure waddled outcoat, scarf, hat, the lot. Anyone spotting her wouldve laughed. She zigzagged through streets, eyes peeled Therea corner phone box. Perfect.
Approaching the caretaker, she muttered, “Need to make a callphones dead.” She flashed a fiver. He handed his mobile over without a word. Emily sent the mysterious number to Oliver, muttered thanks, and scurried off.
Oliver couldnt sleep. He wasnt fussed about the moneyjust the number. Earlier that day, hed bumped into his old mate Charlie after five years. “Call me!” Charlie had shouted from a packed bus, rattling off digits. With no phone on him, Oliver had scribbled it on a fifty. But then disaster struck.
To distract himself, he thought of Emilyher wavy hair, sky-blue eyes, warm smile. A month of small talk, and hed been working up the nerve to ask her out.
Thenping! A text with just a number. Charlies! If the number turned up, so had the cash. Time to thank the sender.
“Hello. Cheers for this. Keep the moneyits yours.”
A gruff voice replied, “Mine? Dunno what you mean. Caretaker here.” Click.
Didnt matter who sent it. Tomorrow, hed tell Emily. Shed seemed down yesterdaymaybe thisd cheer her up.
Smiling, Oliver drifted off.
Emily cried half the nightover her mess of a life, poor thick Gary, and unattainable Oliver, the lovable fool.
Next evening, Oliver bounded to her till. “Emily! Someone sent the numberI reached my mate!” He paused. “Wait howd they get my number? Only you had my card.”
Emily went pale.
“So you found the cash? And sent it?”
Without waiting, he turned on his heel.
“Thats ithe thinks Im a thief!” Panicked, she grabbed her bag and sprinted after him. “Oliver, wait!!!”
Shoppers gawked as she caught up, babbling, then yanked out two shredded fifty scraps with Charlies number.
Oliver stared. Thenlaughter.
Weeks later, the Harpers tied the knot, Emily alternating between giggles and happy tears. Even Gary enjoyed the open bar.
